


Already Done

by The_Torturer_Writes



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Kidnapping, Medical Torture, Menstruation, Modern AU, Rape/Non-con Elements, kinky fuckery, this is not nice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:48:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24407554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Torturer_Writes/pseuds/The_Torturer_Writes
Summary: I lost the original ask, but it was for Kylo fucking you on your period.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Reader, Kylo Ren/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 49
Collections: Torturer Tuesdays





	Already Done

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE HEED THE CONTENT TAGS

Someone was screaming.

Your head pounded. Your ears rang. Your mouth felt stuffed with cotton, and someone was screaming loudly, incessantly, desperately.

Oh.

It was you.

You lifted your head as far as you could and looked for someone, anyone, from beneath puffy eyelids. You tried to blink away the running, claggy mascara and eyeliner, but your eyeballs burned from the attempt. Gulping down air, you searched for any identifiable thing in the room, but you were in a barren warehouse.

Looking beneath you, you found yourself bent over and tied to a gigantic oak table. You fought against the thick ropes binding you and tried to jerk your ankles away from the sturdy legs for even a smidgen of decency. Your stockings and panties were down around your knees, and your skirt hiked high over your ass.

Worse, though, you could feel chilly air on your hot pussy and the squish and froth of accumulated blood, the markings of your period.

Concentrating, you determined that the only things here were you, the table to which he tied you, and a laptop set up on an overturned box across from you. He came into view a second later, stepping around a cement pillar from some dark corner you couldn’t see, and the faucets behind your eyelids turned back on.

“Kylo, please,” you strained and sobbed. “Please don’t do this. Just let me go, and I won’t say anything. I swear.”

“It’s already done.”

His simple reply sent icy spikes into your heart, and you hiccuped a fearful gasp. When he set down the object he had been cleaning, you shook your head wildly and clawed at the table like a rabid dog.

It was a speculum.

The world snapped into place, and you remembered. He caught you after class, promised you he’d help you grade papers, and offered a ride to the coffee shop you liked so much.

But then you were here. He had slapped you and shoved you face first into the table. Expertly and efficiently tied in place, he had completely ignored your pleas and threats of police action. You yelled yourself hoarse when he unpacked the speculum from his bag; and when the first chilly millimeter of it slid into your pussy, your mind emptied.

Your body was on auto-pilot as the barbaric instrument lodged into place and clicked open. You shouted and railed in response to his invading questions. Your heart stopped beating when he slid one long, thick finger in to feel your cervix.

You unraveled into mad, mindless screams at that point. You broke away from your body, howling in utter, abject fear.

“All caught up, are we?”

You snorted at his derision, loathing him for the way he just stood there, calmly waiting for your brain to put itself back together. Crouching, he wiped your face clean of tears, snot, and drool. 

“Don’t worry, sweet.” He pressed his lips to your temple, turning the laptop to face you. “I will take care of you.”

You stared in horror, the screen awash in pinks and reds. Taking in every individual pixel, you put the puzzle pieces together. Smooth sides. Rosy cavern. Pulse, clench, tremble. Dribble, ooze, bubble. You closed your eyes, turning away. 

He had put a camera in your pussy, aimed directly at your cervix.

It hung low, slightly open and weeping, and everything on the display shuddered, awash in the dark remnants of your uterine lining.

Tapping a button on the computer, he stepped behind you, caressing the ample curve of your ass before walloping it with a hard swat. You yelped and thrashed in the bondage, but your objection was cut off by an insistent buzzing and a smooth vibration against the puffy lips of your cunt.

“Let’s see what this pretty pussy does, shall we?”

You bristled, burning with helpless shame. The rotund vibrator head settled right between your two slippery folds, and you fought back a groan. You hated that your body was responding; that you stood onto your toes to get the thing in a better spot; that he laughed each time you did.

“Filthy thing.” He finally moved the infernal, blessed thing an inch down, and you shouted a response. “Better now?”

You slammed your eyes shut because it was too much, too fast. You could smell the coppery tint to the air now, and it dragged a wretched whimper from deep in your chest.

You were nothing more than a vibrating nerve, the percussion in your cunt taking over everything. There was no crime, no rope, no humiliation, no tears. There was only that blissful warmth seeping out from your core, the quaking of your thighs as the pleasure spread throughout your lower half.

“Good girl.” His hand on your lower back pressed you even more into the ruthless toy, and you wailed in response. “Watch it. Watch your pussy cum.”

You shook your head vigorously because there was no way you could do that; but when he took the vibrator away, you whined and stood onto your toes again. Looking up, you focused on the small screen and saw the exact moment the thing contacted your aching cunt again, the spasm and carnal clutch unmistakable.

He buried the fat, round vibrator head even further into your pussy, and you felt the tremor from clit to core, unending and consuming.

You tried to watch, fearful that he would leave you dangling off this cliff if you looked away, but it was all so overwhelming. Your toes curled. Your knees pressed inwards helplessly. Your ass and hips danced under the wicked machine’s ministrations, and your eyes screwed tightly shut.

The orgasm tore through your body with an accompanying volley of shrieks and curses. You could do nothing but hold on, barely clinging to this orbit. It was white lightning, brain seizures, and a seismic shift inside your body. 

A torrent of lust and leakage spilled down your thighs, a ruddy, sticky slip painting your body a profane hue. You collapsed against the table, sweaty and shaking.

“Please,” your whisper cracked, your throat hoarse from shouting. “Kylo, please, let me go.”

“No, no.” The merciless machine dug into your folds again, shooting your head up off of the table once more. “We’re just getting started.”


End file.
